Hallie
by Lowlands Girl
Summary: [Pre HBP] Hallie is a good houseelf. Hallie works for Professor Dumbledore, and she is a proper houseelf. She cleans the fireplaces and cooks the food and she washes the laundry. Hallie won't let Miss Hermione tell her what to do.


The Leaving Feast that year was a very sober affair. Hermione glanced over to the Ravenclaw table and spotted Harry sitting next to Cho, whose face was still in the orange gel Madam Pompfrey used to heal burns. Hopefully she'd get her left eye back, but there were no promises. Cho was one of several Hogwarts alumni sitting in the hall that night.

Hermione thought fleetingly of Marietta, Cho's friend who had once made the mistake of selling out the D.A. - a group of students, led by Harry in their fifth year, who learned Defense Against the Dark Arts on their own - to Dolores Umbridge. Marietta's mark of shame, the spots spelling out "SNEAK" across her face, had not faded until September of sixth year, when the girl, frustrated with them, had finally come to Hermione to ask forgiveness.

But Marietta had fallen two weeks ago in what was coming to be known as the Final Battle, fighting just as bravely as anyone else, perhaps even more bravely, throwing herself in front of a Killing Curse meant for Harry. She, along with many others, had been buried in the Forest.

Ron was nudging her elbow. "What?" she asked, coming out of her reverie. He was pointing up at the high table, where McGonnagall, leaning heavily on her cane, was looking at Hermione meaningfully.

"Wha-"

"Stand up!" he hissed, prodding her in the back.

Hermione stood, smiling vaguely, and everyone applauded. She racked her brains to try and resurrect McGonnagall's speech. It was a no go.

"What was that all about?" she whispered when she sat back down.

Ron rolled his eyes. The effect was unusual, what with the scars that peppered his forehead and right cheek, and the gash that had almost given him a magical eye of his own, like the late Mad-Eye Moody.

"Just announcing your Order of Merlin, _Hermy_" he said quietly.

"Oh, that," she replied. "Well, I didn't really do anything, you know, it was all Grawp's doing-"

"But if you hadn't run into him-"

Run into him was right. Hermione had been running full out from a Death Eater assault in the forest and had bumped into what she thought was a very newly sprouted tree. The tree turned out to be Grawp's leg, and the giant, whose English had been improving little by little, agreed to take her back to Hogwarts Castle, and had, on his own initiative, called for the half-dozen giants who had come over to Dumbledore's side.

Thinking of Dumbledore was painful, and, even now, tears began to prickle at the back of her eyes. She sniffed. _I will not cry,_ she thought sternly. _I will not cry!_

But the images came nonetheless. Dumbledore's powerful strides echoing through the Great Hall as he came to aid Harry in the duel against Voldemort; Dumbledore's quiet voice as he spoke the old magic that channeled Harry's own feelings into Voldemort's cold heart, allowing Harry to defeat him once and for all. The look of pure calm and serenity on Dumbledore's still face as Harry and Neville carried him out of the Hall, weeping...

"I miss him, too," said Ron, when Hermione began to sniffle. "But he did what he needed to do."

"I know. But Hogwarts won't be the same without him."

------

Her trunk was packed, her robes folded neatly and stacked on top of the books so they wouldn't wrinkle. Crookshanks was nothing more than a ginger cushion on the neatly made bed. Her chart of classes, never to exist again, was stacked lovingly in her book bag. There was only one thing left to do, and she wasn't sure she had the courage to do it. But not for nothing had she been sorted into Gryffindor.

The corridors were deserted, as they should be this late, and although the torches in their sconces gave off plenty of light, the castle seemed somehow dark and empty. Perhaps it was mourning, as they all were, for Albus Dumbledore.

Footsteps down a wide stone passageway, a finger tickling a pear, and Hermione was inside the kitchens.

"Miss is not welcome here!" came a chorus of house-elf voices as the door closed behind her. "Miss is encouraging bad behavior!" said one shrill voice at her knees. She looked down to see Hallie, one of the more out-spoken of the lot, glaring up at her.

"I wanted to talk to you," she began, but protests covered the end of her sentence.

"Miss should leave!"

"It is all miss's fault that we lost Winky!"

"Miss is not welcome here!"

"Go away!"

"Please!" said Hermione desperately, "please! I wanted to ask you something! I'm not trying to - well, you know."

The angry voices abated, but the glares continued. "I just wanted to ask you _why_ you like working here. You know, apart from it being house-elf duty and all that?"

There were some thoughtful looks, and then Hallie said, "Dumbledore was a good master, and McGonnagall is just as good. House-elves is trained from birth to serve well and be glad for a roof over our heads."

Another elf - Zandy? Zannie? - spoke up. "If house-elves is given clothes, no house will want us."

"So it's tradition, then?" Hermione asked, trying not to sound judgmental. "You serve humans because that's just the way it is?"

There were some nods, although Hermione thought she saw a few thoughtful heads that were too busy thinking to nod.

"Well, that's very informative. Thank you." But as she turned to leave, a tug on her robes stopped her. It was Hallie.

"Miss isn't going to be telling us how we should ask for clothes? Miss always tells us!"

"But I've decided that tradition is too strong a force for me," sighed Hermione. Maybe this would work!

"Hallie is sorry that Miss has given up," said Hallie. "Can Hallie tell Miss a secret?"

"Of course you can," she said kindly.

Hallie looked around furtively, then, as no other elves were watching reached into her tea towel and drew out a small bundle.

"Oh, Hallie!" exclaimed Hermione. She recognized the lumpy knitting as one of her earlier attempts at elf socks.

"Hallie picked it up by accident, Miss," said Hallie solemnly. "And Hallie was very angry that Miss would be so rude to house-elves, but Hallie has decided that it didn't make any difference, Miss. I is still a house-elf. I still gets pleasure from cleaning and doing work for humans. And I has something to keep my feet warm at night."

Hermione grinned happily. "I'm happy for you, Hallie. And if you want, Professor McGonngall could pay you-"

"Hallie will not be paid!" she exclaimed shrilly. "Hallie is happy enough with her work," she insisted.

"But think of this, Hallie," said Hermione as gently as she could. "Wouldn't it be nice if you could give presents to your friends on Christmas? Or to the professors here who are so nice to you?"

Hallie looked thoughtful, then, pressing a finger to her lips, pulled Hermione down to whisper in her ear. "Would Miss like a present from Hallie?" she asked.

"Yes, Hallie, I'd love a present from you," she whispered back.

"Then Hallie will see Professor McGonnagall tomorrow morning!" she said happily. "Hallie is happy to make Miss happy!"

After refusing several offers of eclairs and chocolate cakes, Hermione made her way slowly up the stairs to her four-poster. Well, if she hadn't freed all the elves, at least one of them realized she could still be happy with a pair of socks.

FIN


End file.
